


How to Save a Life

by zillypill



Series: The Riddick Trilogy [1]
Category: Pitch Black (2000), The Chronicles of Riddick (2004), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillypill/pseuds/zillypill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nine years, Riddick sets out in search of Jack.  But she's not the starry-eyed girl he left behind - she doesn't need him to save her anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where's Jack

Richard B. Riddick paused as he was about to plunge his knife into the beast meant for his dinner. Cocking his head to the side, he listened. _Shit_. That was a skiff…and it was headed his way. Leaving the animal, Riddick took off running, leaping over the deep crevasses that made up the dangerous fingerprint terrain of UV6, barely keeping one step ahead of the pursuing mercs. He had wondered when they would find him – now he had his answer.

The mercs chased Riddick across the treacherous landscape toward a set of caves, launching two nets before he ran between the giant stones. The third net from the skiff caught him, the barbed anchoring harpoon sinking deep into the flesh of his calf. He sank to his knees, grunting in pain. Growling, Riddick yanked the long dart out and turned to face the skiff. _It’s on now_. Lifting both arms out to display a set of wickedly curved knives, he jerked his head to one side. _Come and get me_.

Then he was off, racing through the tight spaces and convoluted rock sculptures that made up the harsh features of his hideout. The skiff slowed its pursuit, but kept following. Obviously time to try a different strategy. Riddick concealed himself behind one of the giant standing rock formations and waited. As the mercs passed, he swung out and silently sliced through the straps holding the two hanging gunners in place. The small craft stopped, hovering, and lights swung around to display the tethers swinging in the biting arctic wind. Riddick smirked. _Me – two. Mercs – zero._ This might be fun after all.

With the crew inside the skiff distracted, Riddick swiftly climbed to a better vantage point on the top of the craft; from there, he could hear the mercs arguing between themselves. He recognized one of the voices – _Toombs_. He bit back a growl of pleasure at facing his old nemesis again. Grinning to himself, he felt the ship resume its movement and waited.

Riddick’s next opportunity arose when a young man nervously clutching a gun poked his head out to survey the area – presumably searching for him. Riddick grabbed him by the shoulders and heaved him out of the skiff, dropping him to the snowy rocks far below. Then he swung himself silently into the cockpit, watching as Toombs set the skiff in hover mode.

“You made three mistakes.” Riddick’s voice came from the aft section of the ship, and he almost grinned as Toombs twisted around in his chair. “First, you took the job. Second, you came light. A four man crew for me? Fuckin insulting. But the worst mistake you made –” Riddick paused as the merc ripped at the harness securing him in his seat and lunged forward – reaching… “Empty gun rack.”

Toombs seemed to deflate as Riddick sprang forward. His hand closed around the other man’s throat, slamming his head against the metal ceiling of the ship. Toombs fell back in his seat, looking warily up at the convict.

“What’s the bounty on my head?”

“Eight hundred fifty k,” Toombs muttered. Riddick paused.

“Who only pays eight-fifty for Richard B. Riddick?”

“You haven’t been such a hot commodity lately.” A shiv appeared in Riddick’s hand, ripping through the fabric of the merc’s pants from knee to groin. “Hey, hey, hey, hey! Guy, guy! Easy! You’re back on top now, since they caught her.”

Without moving his blade, Riddick growled, “Caught who?” _Who had taken his top spot on the most wanted list?_

“Jack Junior.”

He frowned, pulling back from Toombs. _Jack?_ he puzzled. Then he gave himself a mental shake.

Toombs lunged forward again, but Riddick’s knife was at his throat. “Whoa. Where you goin? Last question – and you better get this one right, merc. Whose ship is this?”

Toombs grinned hopefully up at the larger man. “Mine?”

As Riddick cleared the atmosphere for UV6, he debated where to chart his course. It had been nine years since he had dropped the holy man and the kid off on Helion Prime; maybe it was time to check in on them. Jack was what – twenty? Twenty-one? _I wonder if she even remembers me…?_

* * *

Doors clanged and animals growled as three prison guards shoved a rolling metal box into the holding pen. “Act like and animal and I’m gonna slot ya up like one,” one of them shouted over the roars of the hell hounds. Kyra cringed at the echoes bouncing crazily around the room.

“This one is always trouble,” the biggest guard said, in his thick, Slavic accent. They shoved the box up against an empty cage door. “I knew it. I smell it.” Kyra mimicked him from the relative safety of her box, touching her nose and rolling her eyes.

Then, the two guards lifted the door and stepped back. They waited for a moment, but Kyra stayed crouched in the corner of the box, refusing to enter the cage. She knew what was coming next – and she might as well try and cause someone else some pain before they locked her up.

With a glance at each other and a sigh, the guards each grabbed a hammer with a sharpened end. Shoving the points through the ventilation holes in the box, they tried to force a dirty, pissed off Kyra from the transport container and into the cage. After a few jabs, she managed to grab the haft of one of the hammers, breaking the rusted metal and yanking it into the box with her. As the guards paused, she shoved the handle back out through the ventilation hole, catching the smallest guard in the crotch. He bit back a curse.

Finally, the third man stepped forward, leveling his gun against the box. “Get in there,” he growled. _Apparently they don’t wanna play_. Under the new threat of being spread all over the inside of the tiny container, Kyra scrambled into the cage, turning immediately to slam her heavy boots against the door as the guards locked it. As they left, the animals around her sent up another chorus of howls at the commotion.

“Can we shut the goddamn noise!” Kyra shouted, as the door slammed and she was left alone. For a moment, there was complete silence and she sat back against the bars of the cage. Then the hell hounds started up again – growling, whining, barking. Forcing back tears of rage, she clenched her teeth and pressed her hands tightly over her ears. There was nothing she could do. _Just have to wait it out_.

* * *

The landing on Helion Prime was a bit…bumpier than Riddick would have liked. But after taking care of the local authorities, he found himself coasting over the white sands and green waters that surrounded New Mecca. He set down and hid the ship as carefully as he could before making his way to the holy man’s house.

While Riddick waited for his old acquaintance to return, he discovered that in the nine years since that hell planet, Imam Abu al-Walid had acquired himself a wife and child. _New family to replace the old_. Turning this new information over in his mind, the convict began the work of shaving his face and head; the dreadlocks he had grown while in hiding were far too hot for the climate in New Mecca. He was just about finished when the holy man walked through the front door.

“Did you know all your doors were locked?” Imam al-Walid paused on the stairs, the familiar voice sending a shiver down his spine.

Riddick kept speaking as the older man searched the shadows for signs of the convict. “Nine years ago, I took two people off that planet. A kid – Jack – who everyone else thought was a boy. And a holy man, searching for New Mecca.” Riddick saw the other man’s eyes dart toward the house’s upper balcony. “Your wife – she’s in the shower.” Shined eyes glinted as he raised his eyebrows.

Emerging from the shadows, Riddick’s ears caught the faint sound of something on the upper level. There was someone else – someone small… A quick glance revealed a young girl, gazing down at the scene through the balcony rail. “Riddick?” she asked quietly, rising from her crouch.

“Riddick.” The heavily accented voice of the Imam’s wife echoed her daughter’s words, as she emerged from some upstairs room. Tucking in the end of her turban, her hands reached out to grip the railing. The little girl moved toward the top of the stairs, her mother following close behind.

“And a daughter,” Riddick mused, “whose name would be?”

“No!” The woman reached out and grabbed the young girl as Riddick moved to the foot of the stairs.

“Your issue is with me. You need not know their names.” Desperation coated al-Walid’s accented voice. Riddick glanced over his shoulder for a moment, both irked and pleased at the holy man’s fear. Then he turned his gaze back up the stairs as the little girl spoke.

“Ziza,” she said. “My name is Ziza.” Al-Walid sighed, and his wife’s fingers tightened on the little girl’s shoulders.

“Ziza,” Riddick repeated, bracing himself at the foot of the staircase. Pleased that she wasn’t afraid of him, he was strongly reminded of Jack. He turned to look at the Imam, forcing back a smile. “Cute kid.”

“Did you really kill monsters?” Ziza asked, catching the adults off guard. “The ones that were gonna hurt my father?”

_He told her that?_ Riddick’s questioning glance conveyed the thought silently.

Al-Walid shrugged helplessly at Riddick’s look. “Such are our bedtime stories,” he offered. At that point, his wife succeeded in urging Ziza out of the room. _Enough was enough_. He hadn’t come here to be social. Riddick pushed himself back from the foot of the staircase, and turned to look at the holy man.

“We have some talking to do,” was all the convict said.

* * *

Night had descended upon New Mecca when Riddick and Imam al-Walid finally found time for a private conversation. Sitting out on the upstairs balcony, Riddick watched the holy man pace back and forth across the view of New Mecca’s skyline; he was also vaguely aware of Ziza peeking at him through one of the Imam’s ornately carved screens. _Cute kid_ , he though again. Finally, Riddick closed the heavy outer door and turned to al-Walid.

“Where is she?” he asked, without preamble. The holy man turned on his heel, startled by the question.

“She, uh -” al-Walid swallowed, turned and leaned against the rail. Riddick waited, steeling himself for bad news. “She went looking for you. People died. She went to prison.” Riddick shifted in his seat at that, guilt stabbing through him. “I-I don’t remember where.” The Imam shook his head. “But it was a world so hot you could not survive on the surface.”

“Crematoria.” That was all he needed to hear. The kid didn’t belong in slam, especially not a hellhole like that. _Shit, she wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for me_. Riddick stood and started back through the house.

“Young Jack, she thought of you as her older brother,” al-Walid admonished, following the convict. “She worshiped you.”

“You were supposed to watch her,” Riddick countered, descending the steps to the front door.

“She never forgave you,” the Imam called after him, “for leaving, just when she needed you most.” Riddick paused, an unfamiliar feeling twisting in his gut.

“She needed to stay away from me,” he muttered. “You all do.” And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the darkened streets of New Mecca.

Riddick let his feet lead him away from the holy man’s house. In his head, he replayed the day he left her over and over again.

 

_The kid was sleeping when they finally set down in New Mecca. Instead of waking her, Riddick carried her through the terminal, cradling her surprisingly gently against his broad chest.  
“She needs the rest,” he’d shrugged when the holy man sent him a questioning look._

_The trio emerged from the spaceport into the blinding Helion sun. Riddick motioned that al-Walid should lead the way, and followed the older man through the city’s winding streets. Eventually, they stopped in front of a crowded, run-down building._

“ _It is the local shelter,” the Imam explained, as the trio settled into the shade provided by the building’s large porch. “We will stay here until the church can set up a house for us.” He motioned for Riddick to set Jack down._

_Riddick paused, uncertain. It was the smart thing to do – leave the kid with the holy man. But at that instant, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go._ This is ridiculous _, he thought, staring down at the sleeping girl in his arms._ Hand her over and get the hell outta Dodge _. He just couldn’t quite…_

_Finally, Riddick gave Jack a light squeeze and set her down on one of the long benches that lined the shelter’s porch; she stirred a bit, but didn’t wake. “Watch her, holy man,” he rumbled, then disappeared into the crowded New Meccan streets without looking back._

 

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings. _Mistake_. Suddenly, a noise startled him from his reverie; boots clomping through the dust, the jingle of chains…the sounds of mercs. Riddick cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. _Well, that’s one way of getting to see the kid_ , he thought with a grin.

Riddick stopped in the center of the dusty street, letting his tail catch up. There was only one merc this persistent. “Let me guess,” he rumbled, when they were within earshot. “A five-man crew this time.”

“Couple of things you could have done better.” Toombs’ voice rasped from behind the convict, mimicking Riddick’s earlier speech. “First, trash the locator beacon inside my ship – the one you jacked. And second – and this is really the more important part,” the merc paused – _probably for dramatic effect_ – “dust my dick when you get the chance.” The rest of his crew materialized out of the darkness, surrounding him. “Any questions?”

“Yeah.” Riddick turned and raised his hands in a sort of shrug. “What took you so long?”

Toombs turned and nodded a cue to one of his crew. _A woman_ , Riddick noticed, his eyes twinkling behind his goggles. She moved forward, brandishing a pair of handcuffs. “Let’s go, big boy,” she said, snapping the restraints around his wrists.

The mercs led Riddick to their skiff – this one bigger than the one he’d stolen. They loaded him into the restraint chair, securing his arms away from his body. Then, the crew turned their attention to clearing Helion Prime’s atmosphere while they all grinned and congratulated one another.

“In and out, unsuspected and undetected,” the fat one crowed. “Damn, I love a good smash-and-grab.”

“Yeah, not so fast,” the woman cut in. “Not so fast, dickheads.” She and the pilot were staring at a screen on the comm console. “We’re pickin up fields here.” She flipped a few switches as a computerized voice spoke from the panel,

“Unknown fields detected on hull.”

“I knew it,” the pilot muttered. “Here it comes.” The crew huddled around the console, shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space.

“It's some kind of scan,” the woman said, answering Toombs’ unspoken question. “I don’t know. Readin our BTUs, maybe?”

Closing his eyes in resignation, Toombs spoke. “Let’s drop one.”

“Dropping.” The pilot echoed the command as he keyed in the proper sequence. The ship shuddered as a set of bay doors opened to deploy a heat decoy.

“Decoy launched,” the computer confirmed. The merc crew visibly relaxed.

Riddick watched the moment of panic from his seat at the rear of the ship and shook his head. This was going to be easier than he thought. He waited as the pilot engaged the ion drive, and Toombs turned to take him in.

“So,” the merc said, “where do we drop your merc-killin ass? Who’s gonna pay the most for you now?” He paused. “Butcher Bay?”

“Butcher Bay,” Riddick repeated, injecting as much scorn into his voice as possible. He knew they would dump him on Crematoria, he just had to play his cards right. Looking up at Toombs, he gave a small grin. “Ten minutes every other day on the dog run. Protein waffles aren’t bad.”

“Hey, how ‘bout Ursa Luna?” Toombs offered, lighting a cigarette. “Nice little double-max prison.”

“They keep a cell open for me…just in case I drop in,” Riddick shot back.

“You know the problem with these joints now?” Toombs asked, turning back to his crew. “Health clubs for waffle-eatin pussies. Maybe we should think about uppin our game here a little bit. Think about someplace truly diabolical.” Riddick stifled a grin; _that’s it, follow my lead_.

“What the hell’s he thinkin now,” the woman muttered from the front of the ship.

“He’s thinkin a triple-max prison,” Riddick offered. “A no-daylight slam. Only three of ‘em left in this system – two of ‘em outta range for a shitty little undercutter like this one with no legs. Leavin just…one –” _right where I wanna go_ , “Crematoria.” _Now to drive the idea home_. “That is what you had in mind, right, Toombs?”

“Hey,” one of the crew objected, “how does he know where we’re goin, and we don’t?”

Toombs didn’t reply. “Dope it out,” he commanded.

“I hate this run,” the pilot mumbled, pressing a brief kiss to a charm he around his neck.

“Just do it,” Toombs growled, in a tone that suppressed any other objections.

“Don’t know about this new crew of yours,” Riddick taunted. “They seem a bit skittish. Probably shouldn’t tell ‘em what happened to the last crew.” An uncomfortable silence descended, the crew sending wary glances at one another.

Toombs hissed a laugh, ambling back to Riddick’s place. “You know, you supposed to be some slick-shit killer,” he rasped, his face inches away from the convict’s. “Now look at you – all back-of-the-bus and shit.” Blowing a lungful of smoke into Riddick’s face, the merc took his seat and settled in for the trip to Crematoria. 

* * *

 

 Updated: 04-02-2015


	2. Crematoria

Riddick woke at the sound of a harness being released. He’d dozed off while listening to the breathing patterns of the merc crew – including the steady panting of the woman. Now, he could feel her looking at him as she shook off her dream.

_Boots on metal_. She was coming toward him. Keeping his eyes closed and his breathing even, Riddick felt her lean into him, sliding up his body without ever quite making contact. _Oh, she was a brave one_. Then she reached for his goggles, pushing them up onto his forehead.

Riddick’s eyes snapped open. The woman gasped, pulling back as he caught her thigh between his. “Do you know you grind your teeth at night?” he rumbled, biting back a grin as she struggled, jerking her hips in a futile effort to get away. “Sexy.” When she yanked herself back again, he released her. She had balls, he’d give her that.

As they neared Crematoria’s atmosphere, the rest of the crew began to wake. The woman had already assumed her position near the cockpit and started reading out stats as the computer unlocked the skiff’s manual controls.

“All right. I make seven hundred degrees on the day side, three hundred below on the night side,” she said, shrugging into her harness.

“Let’s not get caught in the sun,” the pilot agreed.

Toombs took a shot of tequila from a battered bottle and swished it around in his mouth before adding, “If I owned this place and hell, I’d rent this place out and live in hell.” Then, they were entering the atmosphere. Riddick used the roof of the ship to replace his goggles over his eyes and settled back into his restraint chair, bracing for a rough landing.

“Hit it!” called the woman, and the craft took a sharp dive toward the planet.

“Angle of approach, not good,” the comm system announced. The fat merc and Toombs began to laugh – until the vicious Crematoria sun blasted through the front windows.

There was a jolt as they hit a sort of runway. “Party poppers!” shouted the pilot. The woman kicked a button and the whole ship jerked back, slowing. Finally, they slid into a hangar, the red-hot nose of the skiff crashing into the rock of the far wall.

“I think I shit myself,” the fat one announced. Riddick smiled at that.

“Skittish, Toombs. Very skittish.”

The crew shackled Riddick and led him to the prison’s transport sledge at gunpoint. After strapping him securely in the back, they took off at a break-neck speed, deep into the planet. With nothing else to do, Riddick watched the evenly spaced overhead lights, keeping time with his foot; he was calculating distance. Not even boosting the fat merc off his chest – and off the speeding sledge – hindered his concentration. “Twenty-nine point four kilometers,” he mused, as they jerked to a stop.

The mercs unstrapped themselves and stretched as the slam’s main doors opened, revealing the guards. “So, this is Riddick,” announced one, his manner making it obvious that he was what passed for a warden in a place like this. His thick, Slavic accent was laced with contempt for the man chained and helpless before him. Riddick didn’t respond; he had work to do here. No need to start shit before it was absolutely necessary. _And it would be necessary soon enough_.

The mercs and prison guards unshackled Riddick, leading him into a shabby control room. There, they attached a rope to his cuffs and started lowering him through a hole in the room’s floor. Dangling and helpless, with his arms above his head, Riddick looked around as he descended into the bowls of Crematoria.

Suddenly, the rope jerked to a stop. With his sharp ears, Riddick could hear parts of the conversation going on above his head. Toombs – greedy bastard – was demanding a bigger bounty payout. “I’d take the money, Toombs,” he offered, glancing up. The rope started to move again. By now, the other inmates had caught sight of him, and Riddick had more important things to worry about. As a banging started up, announcing fresh meat to the rest of slam’s population, he scanned the levels of cells – searching for Jack’s familiar face.

The rope halted again; he’d had enough of this bullshit. Whatever was going on in the control room was no longer his concern. Gauging his distance to the ground, and the human scum that were greedily eying his boots, Riddick made a quick decision. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself up and inverted his hanging position. When he allowed himself to fall out of it, he used the momentum and recoil to wrap the rope around his waist, boosting the force with his legs when he needed to. When he let go, the rope unwound and he fell toward the bottom of the pit; bracing his shoulders against the pull, he used his magnified weight to shatter the chain holding his cuffs together.

Kyra watched as Riddick’s boots hit the ground. She’d heard the clanging metal signifying fresh fish and she’d come prepared for a good fight – she hadn’t expected _him_. She gazed on as he took out two of the sulfur-covered Yellow Men. But the third… As the last one ran toward Riddick’s back, Kyra threw out a chain; it wrapped around the attacker’s throat, jerking him back and cleanly breaking his spine. Pulling the weapon back, she met Riddick’s goggled eyes as she coiled it around her arm. Her thoughts were scrambling, but she made sure that her face stayed impassive. He pulled his goggles off, and Kyra felt her heart surge at the sight of his familiar shine – but the Guv began speaking, pulling Riddick’s attention away and saving her from any embarrassment.

“There are inmates, and there are convicts,” he said, going into his usual welcoming speech for newbies. “A convict has a certain code. And he knows to show a certain respect.” Kyra used the cover to slip away, into the nooks and crannies of the rocky faces of the slam.

Riddick bit back a growl of frustration. That woman had been familiar… _so goddamn familiar_. Her hair was darker – longer, too – and her eyes winked silver instead of whatever Jack’s had been – _but the way she had looked at him_. Then this dumbass had started talking, and she’d gotten away.

“An inmate, on the other hand,” the interrupter continued, “pulls the pin on his fellow man. Does the guards’ work for them. Brings shame to the game.” The man wound up what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech as he neared Riddick. “So,” he concluded, “which are you gonna be?”

“Me?” Riddick replied, replacing his goggles and dismissing the crowd that had gathered around the fight. “I’m just passing through."

* * *

Kyra watched as Riddick disappeared from the main floor. She'd given up hope that he would come looking for her years ago, so why now? Maybe just coincidence, but she had to be sure. Following at a safe distance, she tailed her former hero as he took stock of the slam. Finally, she saw her chance: she crept up behind him when he entered a deserted cell, jabbing one of her contraband blades into his back.

“Should I go for the sweet spot?” she purred by way of greeting. “Left of the spine, fourth lumbar down, the abdominal aorta? What a gusher.” He lifted his goggles off his eyes and looked over his shoulder. “How do I get eyes like that?” Kyra asked, the same question she’d asked on that hellacious planet.

“You gotta kill a few people,” Riddick responded – just as he had nine years ago.

She chuckled humorlessly. “Did that,” she muttered, pressing her knife harder against his flesh. “I did a lot of that.” Suddenly, Riddick grabbed her and whipped her around. Slamming her against the bars of the cell, he pinned her arms over her head, neutralizing her weapon.

“Then you gotta get sent to a slam,” he growled, almost lovingly.

“One where they tell you you’ll never see daylight again?” Kyra shot back. “Only there wasn’t any doctor here who could shine my eyes. He was barely a fuckin vet. And he wanted a hell of a lot more than a pack of Kools for the job. You fuckin liar,” she ground out.

That hit a nerve. Bracing a hand on the bar between Kyra's legs, Riddick shoved her up until her feet dangled several inches off the ground. He looked like he wanted to say something, but she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “What’re you gonna do, huh?” she whispered, desperately taking stock of her position. Her eyes landed on the dim light next to her as she finished the jab, “Go for the sweet spot?” Only, both of them knew she didn’t mean the abdominal aorta.

“Remember who you’re talkin to – Jack,” he replied. _Oh, this was perfect_. This was all playing right into her hands. Feeling around in her mouth for the blade she kept there, she spoke.

“Jack’s dead. She was weak.” _Where the hell was it? There!_ “She couldn’t cut it.” Swinging her leg up, Kyra kicked out the bulb next to her. The light blinded Riddick momentarily, and he let her drop. On the way down, she cut a tiny slash across his cheek. When he finally regained his sight, she was leaning nonchalantly on one of the bridges connecting the slam’s levels. “The name’s Kyra now,” she announced. “And I’m a new animal.”

Riddick watched as the kid threw herself over the bridge’s railing, reaching up to wipe at the blood trickling down his left cheek. He was impressed. _She’d gotten in a hit_. But he didn’t spend too much time thinking about this new development. He’d find out the answers to all his questions soon enough.

* * *

Kyra kept an eye on Riddick as he moved around the slam – memorizing the layout. _A_ _nd possible escape routes_. She was careful to keep out of sight, until he found the broken pipe that some inmates used as a shower. The sight of the tepid water sluicing over his muscles, of his clothes clinging to every plane and contour of his body, caught her attention. She lied to herself, denying that the familiar flutter in her belly had anything to do the man in front of her. Instead, she told herself it was the thrill of catching Big Evil in a moment of such vulnerability.

Leaning on the railing, she pulled a small tin from one of the cargo pockets at her knee and flipped it open; inside was a coarse, yellow-white powder. She wet the tip of her middle finger with her tongue before coating it in the substance, then she put it in her mouth and sucked thoughtfully. As the drugs took hold of her system, Kyra stashed the box and turned back to drinking in the sight of Riddick just as he settled his goggles over his eyes and turned toward her…

There she was. Jack – _Kyra now_ , he reminded himself – was leaning on a railing, her lithe body contorted into a crouch. Riddick felt a stirring in his groin; the predatory look in her gaze was making him hard. Their eyes met for a prolonged, heated moment, then someone was talking to him.

“Still here, I see?” It was the asshole from earlier. The one with the speech. “I’ve been here eighteen years. See this?” He fingered a thick silver wedding ring, visible outside his fingerless, leather gloves. “I remember how gorgeous she was,” he continued, with a well-practiced smile. “Well, gorgeous in a certain light. And now, for the goddamn death of me, I cannot remember her name.” Riddick was contemplating snapping the man’s neck to put an end to the ridiculous speeches, when an ancient PA system crackled to life.

“Feeding time!”

Chaos broke out. Prisoners ran back and forth, desperately searching for shelter from…what? Riddick could taste the panic in the air. “We’re here for the rest of our unnatural lives,” the Speech-Giver finished, before starting off in search of his own protection. Riddick stared after him for a moment, still curious about what was causing such terror. Then he turned to assess the situation.

“Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact.” Riddick started at the voice – the Speech-Giver had turned back to offer some more unwanted advice. _Make eye contact with what?_ Riddick wondered briefly, but the other man disappeared into a cloud of steam and was gone.

Two guards were lowered through the central cavern, laughing at the panicking prisoners. Some barricaded themselves in cells, holding the doors shut against whatever was coming. They fought for hiding spots, pushing and shoving one another out of the way, running pell-mell across bridges and up and down staircases. Kyra forced her way past them, searching for her own sanctuary, when one of the vicious hell hounds blocked her path. It snarled, stalking toward her. _Not good._ But the bump she’d taken earlier was still singing through her veins. She felt strong and damn near invincible as she leaped up and over the walkway’s railing. Grasping one of the stray cables that led to nowhere, she slid to a lower level. There, she took a moment to catch her breath before running to her cell and securing the makeshift lock.

* * *

Not long after the all-clear sounded and her buzz had started to fade, Kyra found herself cornered in a cell by four guards, all armed. Slowly, she raised her hands into the air and backed towards the wall. _No trouble here, officer._ Then, she turned around to face the rock and waited.

“Check her for me. She’s always got a blade somewhere,” said one, as another approached her with a cocky swagger. _He’d better not_... Kyra thought idly, knowing he would. And as the guard patted her down, he paused for a feel and a quick squeeze as he passed over her ass. Kyra gritted her teeth, but took it; it would satisfy the men and they’d leave her alone. _As long as it doesn’t stray any farther_.

When his fingers started to move around and into the waistband of her pants, she decided she’d had enough of this little game. Time to change the rules a bit. With a quick twist of her foot, Kyra triggered the pressure release on the blades hidden in her boots. She brought her heel up into the belly of the handsy guard behind her, then pushed against the wall so she could catch him in the side of the head with her other boot. Getting her blade free, she got his head between her feet and twisted – there was a vicious crack and the man sank to his knees.

Seizing the opportunity, Kyra grabbed his sharpened mallet and hit him hard. When he started to fall forward, she delivered one last kick to his jaw. As Kyra flipped away, the guard went tumbling out of the cell and into the wall next to his buddies.

The group stood shocked for a second, before two more attacked. She fended them off with the stolen weapon until the leader clubbed her from behind with his own hammer. He and his second in command had her on the floor with the sharpened shaft pressing on her throat, when a voice spoke from the shadows.

“I don’t think she likes being touched.” Riddick stepped into the cell, a tin cup in one of his massive hands. “I’d take my wounded and go while you still can,” he added calmly.

The guard holding Kyra – the second in command – dropped the girl and looked at Riddick incredulously. “Is there a name for this private little world of yours, huh?” he asked derisively. “What happens there when we don’t just run away? You’ll kill us? With a soup cup?” The other guards chuckled.

Behind them, Kyra struggled to her feet, using the cell bars to pull her aching body up and out of the way as fast as possible; she knew what was coming, even if the guards didn’t.

“Tea, actually,” was all Riddick replied.

That stopped the laughter. “What’s that?” Second-in-Command demanded.

Riddick finished what was in his cup and replied, “I’ll kill you with my teacup.” He set it down gently on a nearby rock ledge. Kyra smiled knowingly as the guards looked at each other. _This was gonna be good_.

“You know the rule,” the Leader muttered. “They aren’t dead if they’re still on the books.” That seemed to be all the permission the Second needed. With a soft grunt of agreement, he pulled his knife and lunged at Riddick. Lightning fast, Riddick grabbed the cup, hit it on the rock to sharpen its edge, and buried it in his opponent’s chest. He gave it a twist, and shoved the man away from him.

Now the rest of the remaining guards looked scared. “Come on,” the Leader challenged, but it was an empty threat. Slowly, Riddick bent and picked up a discarded ration tin key from the floor, setting it where the cup had been. Finally, the guards broke and ran, dragging their wounded comrade behind them.

Kyra knelt and pulled the cup from Second’s chest. “Death by teacup,” she said. “Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I didn’t come to play ‘Who’s the Better Killer’,” Riddick replied, turning away from her.

“But it’s my favorite game. Haven’t you heard?”

“I heard you came lookin for me,” he shot back.

_Ah, now they were getting down to it_. “Is that all?” Kyra mused. She rose, toying with the cup as she spoke, “Then you missed the good part. Hooked up with some mercs outta Lupus 5. Said they’d take me on, teach me the trade, give me a good cut.” She set the cup down hard before continuing. “They slaved me out, Riddick. Do you know what that could do to you when you’re that age? When you’re twelve years old?”

_Really? She was going to blame him?_ “I told you to stay in New Mecca,” Riddick gritted out, turning to face her; he could feel his anger boiling over… Then, seeing the silver glinting back at him from Kyra’s eyes, he snapped. “Did you not listen?” he shouted, ripping a light fixture from the cell’s ceiling, as if to emphasize his point. With the light gone, he pulled his goggles from his face and looked at her. “I had mercs on my neck,” he growled. “I’ll always have mercs on my neck. I spent nine years on a frozen heap just to keep ‘em away from you.” He paused, letting that sink in through the kid’s thick skull; he’d disappeared for _her_ , dammit. Then, a bit softer, he continued, “And you go and sign up with the same fake badges that wanted to cut you up and use you for bait.”

Kyra fought back a snort. “What’re you pitching, Riddick?” she taunted, her voice rising as he turned away from her. “That you cuttin out was a good thing? That you had my ass covered from halfway across the universe?”

“You signed with mercs,” he repeated, still not quite believing the words. Slowly, he began to walk back out into the main prison cavern, until Kyra’s soft voice stopped him.

“There was nobody else around.” With that, she disappeared deeper into the maze of cells and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Updated: 04-02-2015 

 


	3. Cutting Fence

Kyra woke from a light doze as someone approached her cell. Keeping her breathing steady, she palmed one of her smaller blades and waited. It wasn’t a walk she recognized – the steps were light, the strides long and easy; they moved confidently down the confusingly dark and narrow walkways. Tensing for the coming fight, Kyra almost sighed aloud as she caught the trace of a familiar smell. It was the same smell that had rubbed off on her clothes from their confrontation earlier, the same smell that had worked its way so deep into her memory that she could never forget it.

“What?” she grunted, stretching her cold, cramped muscles as Riddick stopped in front of her cell.

“Time to go,” he said simply.

Kyra raised an eyebrow as she sat up. Time to go? _Because_ _apparently, it’s just that easy_ , she thought crossly.

“Well?” The low, annoyed growl from the man outside her cell forced her to focus. Quickly, she grabbed a battered, nearly empty pack of cigarettes and tucked it into her back pocket. Then, she patted herself down, checking to make sure she had all her weapons and her stash box. Satisfied, she stood and moved to the door. Riddick, nothing more than a huge shadow against the bars of her cell, was waiting for her.

He raised an eyebrow. “Ready now?” he asked. Inhaling deeply, Kyra nodded and motioned that he should lead the way. This was his escape, after all.

After a moment, Riddick moved off down the corridor. “Let’s go,” he tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to see if she kept up.

They stalked silently along the walkways and up stairwells to the uppermost level of the prison. The kid kept up with him easily, moving like the predator she had become. On the final landing, Riddick paused and double checked his weapons.

“What now, Big Evil?” Kyra asked, and he glanced at her. Her strong hands were pulling her hair back from her face and securing it at the back of her head.

Riddick nodded to a heavy iron door in front of them. “Through that door is the main office,” he said. “We’re going to break in, jack the transport sledge and take it to the hangar. Then, we’re off this rock.” Turning away from her, he moved to examine the door for any weaknesses. Kyra followed, perplexed.

“Just like that?” she questioned. “Really?”

Riddick nodded, squatting to fiddle almost absently with the door’s hinge.

“Just out of curiosity, what if someone tries to stop us?” He looked up then, his eyes curious she would even ask.

“They die.”

Kyra nodded and fell silent. _Good_ , Riddick thought. There would be no more questions – asking questions wasted time. After another few minutes of examining the door, he felt the kid lean in behind him. He held perfectly still and watched as she slipped a slender pick under the lock’s keypad, popping the faceplate off. She fidgeted for a few moments, then glanced down at him.

“This is probably gonna set off an alarm,” she warned. “They’ll know we’re coming.” Riddick nodded and Kyra turned back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she cut the power to the lock. Instantly, a deafening buzz began to echo around the prison.

Riddick rose and started off down the bright hallway revealed as the heavy door swung open. Behind him, Kyra paused and fished out her stash box. Taking a little of the powder from her moistened fingertip, she took a deep breath and forced down her nerves. Then, checking to make sure all her shivs were in place, she followed Riddick down the short corridor. She had time to wish halfheartedly for a gun before Riddick stopped. He turned around and looked at her, pressing a finger to his lips.

The door in front of them wasn't locked – surprising, but helpful. Manifesting a knife from nowhere, Riddick rested his hand lightly on the button that would open the panel. He watched as she steadied herself and nodded to him. Good. He knew Kyra was with him. Hopefully she would stay that close during the fighting. Then, Riddick slammed his hand on the button and the door grated open. The battle had begun.

The room was full. Toombs and his crew were sitting around, mingling with the slam guards; all of them looked up as Riddick and Kyra burst in. Nine guns were instantly aimed in their direction. _Fuck_ , Riddick thought.

Kyra froze for a moment, gauging the distance to the transport sledge, and how many people she’d have to go through to get there. There were too many, she decided; they couldn’t take them all out. Frantically, she wondered what the fuck she was going to do. _Stick with the plan_ , Riddick’s logical voice whispered in her ear. _Get them out of our way_. Giving a mental shrug, Kyra stepped to one side of Riddick and sliced the throat of the nearest person – one of Toombs’ crew.

Riddick saw Kyra attack out of the corner of his eye. _Good girl._ She was sticking with the plan. Turning to his left, away from her, he grabbed one of the guards’ pistols and twisted it out of his hands. He aimed carefully and shot. A slam guard hit the floor with a sickening noise. To his right, he could see Kyra; she was holding her own against another of Toombs’ crew members. Riddick aimed the guard’s gun again, but the shot went wild as he ducked a blow from his left. One of the guards was clutching a knife, trying to plunge it into Riddick’s chest.

“Nice try,” he rumbled. Grabbing the blade and the guard’s hand, he twisted, breaking the other man’s wrist. Riddick grinned as the guard fell to the floor, screaming and cradling his injured hand to his chest. Stray bullets clanged off the walls around the control room. One of the shots took out the breaker box, plunging the room into almost complete darkness. Riddick pulled off his goggles and laughed.

“Not afraid of the dark, are you boys?” he heard Kyra call.

_Let’s see how good your shine job is, kid_ , he thought. In the semi-dark he could see the door to the underground tunnel that led to the hangar. Turning back to the fight, he mentally reviewed the plan. He had taken down two guys, and Kyra had at least gotten one. The odds were getting more and more even by the second. Aiming the gun again, Riddick shot twice more, emptying the magazine. _Fucker wasn’t fully loaded,_ he realized with surprise.

Kyra dodged a knife as she watched one of Toombs’ crew and another guard fall to the floor. Whatever else she had to say about Riddick, the man sure could shoot a gun. The slice of a blade opening the skin along her side brought her attention back to her attacker. Clutching her favorite shiv in a blood-slicked hand, she drove the knife up, into his stomach and under his ribs. Jerking it out, she slashed his throat and wiped sweat from her forehead as he fell to the ground. Counting the bodies sprawled on the floor she came up with seven; only two left.

Riddick came up behind Toombs and pressed his shiv to the merc’s throat. “You should’ve taken the money, Toombs,” he growled. In a blink, he removed the blade and slammed Toombs’ head into the wall; the merc could die here on this rock, after he experienced what a hellhole it was. Riddick looked up and saw the one remaining guard had gotten the drop on Kyra. Silently, he came up behind the man and plunged his shiv into the sweet spot, just above the fourth lumbar vertebrae. He could feel the warm blood gushing over his hands and grinned.

The big guard dropped as Riddick slid the blade out of him. Kyra sat on the floor, trying to catch her breath.

“Let’s go kid,” he said. Crossing the room, he hit the button to open the thick metal door. There was a buzzing and the panel slid back, revealing the underground tunnel. Then, he stopped.

Coughing, Kyra rose and followed Riddick into the narrow passage. She groaned. The sledge was gone. “Now what?” she panted.

“We run,” Riddick replied, taking off down the maintenance walkway that paralleled the sledge track.

Kyra lingered for a moment, pulling a few wires out of the lock box to lock the door behind them and trying to catch her breath. As the door slid shut, she quickly glanced back into the control room; in the glow of the emergency lights, she could see bodies, guns, and broken equipment scattered everywhere.

“I said, let’s go kid,” Riddick growled from somewhere up the tunnel. _We ain’t out yet._

“Coming,” she called out , taking off up the passage after him.

They hauled ass toward the hangar, Kyra pushing herself farther than she thought she could go. Her lungs were on fire, and the drugs were making her heart race; she was certain there was no chance she could make it all the way…

When they finally burst through the heavy door, Kyra was out of breath and running on pure adrenaline. Riddick caught her as she stumbled down the steps to the main floor of the room. Steadying her, he led them over to Toombs’ little skiff and set her down on a crate. There, she focused on slowing her breathing while he punched in the codes to open the ship. He keyed in the sequence to open the hangar door and returned to stand in front of Kyra, hesitating.

Suddenly, Riddick hauled her into his arms and captured her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, then let her go. “You did good,” he said, turning and walking up the ramp leading into the ship. Kyra stumbled after him, collapsing in the nearest seat; she couldn’t say anything. Noting her silence, Riddick turned to look at her. “Now what do you say we get off this rock?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, Kyra muttered, “I could deal with that.”

* * *

Kyra fidgeted anxiously in her seat as Riddick navigated expertly through a rough take-off. When he finally got the small ship set on autopilot, she unfastened her harness and rose; the drugs were still coursing through her system, and she was antsy.

Almost absently, Kyra began to explore the mercs’ small transport. She opened cabinets and closets, poked around in storage boxes and examined dusty shelves. There wasn’t much, but she managed to find a minimal first aid kit, some worn-looking robes, and a few other odds and ends that might come in handy.

One of the doors led to a small bathroom – not much more than a chemical toilet and a sink. As she was about to duck out, Kyra glanced in the mirror and groaned. Her hair fell haphazardly around her face and blood was spattered or smeared on almost every square inch of exposed skin. With a sigh, she pulled a few squares of toilet paper off the roll and attempted to wipe off her face as best she could. Then, she gathered her hair and refastened it in a knot at the back of her head. Satisfied that she was at least presentable, Kyra closed the door and turned back to the rest of the ship.

Riddick listened to the kid rattling around as he set the autopilot’s course for Helion Prime; this shitty little skiff couldn’t make it much farther than that, and he had an acquaintance there that should be able to help them – he hoped. The trip would only take about twelve hours, then he could find a better ship and really get the hell outta Dodge. Merc skiffs were great for short hops when there was nothing better, but Riddick wanted something with some legs on it.

With that done, he tapped into the signal from the nearest internet satellite and started on a little bit of research. Since he had some time to kill, he wanted to know a bit more about the badass that knocked the great Richard B. Riddick out of the Most Wanted’s top spot. Pulling up a generic search engine, he typed in “Jack Junior,” and was surprised at all the results. Selecting a link, he settled in for some light reading.

After a while, Riddick noticed that the kid had fallen silent. Kyra had been bouncing off the walls for hours, but it seemed like she’d finally tired herself out. Turning in his seat, he noticed she'd turned two chairs toward each other and was now sprawled across them, dozing lightly. He thought vaguely about getting up to check on her, but didn’t want to risk waking her and setting her rattling around again. They would talk about the things he’d been reading – later. For now he’d let her sleep. Decision made, Riddick settled into a more comfortable position, propping his feet against the comm panel. Closing his eyes, he tried to rest for a little bit.

* * *

The ship was quiet when Kyra woke. She pushed herself up and felt a sharp pull of pain at her side. Searching her memory, she vaguely recalled a giant, evil-looking knife slicing up her ribs during the fight. A glance down revealed a large, drying bloodstain on her shirt. Twisting experimentally, she realized that the wound had clotted to the fabric and wrinkled her nose in annoyance. _That’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch_ , she thought.

Gingerly, Kyra stood and stretched. Riddick was dozing in his chair, so the skiff was obviously on autopilot. Sneaking silently up to peek at the control panel, she fiddled with the keyboard for a minute before a search page for “Jack Junior” appeared on the screen.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“Language, kid.” Riddick’s deep rumbling voice startled her. Turning, she saw that he was watching her; he must have woken while she studied the controls.

“Doing a bit of research, are we?” she asked casually, looking back at the screen.

“Had some time to kill before we hit Helion Prime.” He unfastened his harness and stretched, leaning in behind her.

“Find anything interesting?” She glanced up from the screen.

“Cute mug shot.”

“Fuck you,” Kyra said, drawing herself up stiffly and looking straight ahead.

“Kiss your mother with that mouth?” Riddick asked drily. He leaned in closer, invading her personal space; his breath whispered past her ear. Being that close to her, breathing her in like that, he was struck with a sudden bolt of pure lust – _when had she gotten gorgeous_?

“My mother’s dead,” Kyra snapped, bringing him back to the moment. Riddick could hear her heart pounding. Suddenly she turned, sliding one of her shivs out of its sheath and pressing it lightly against his throat. “Just like you’ll be if you don’t back the fuck off.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “ _Jack_.”

Their gazes locked and held, each waiting for the other to break. Finally Kyra squeezed her eyes shut.

“Fuck!” She growled and threw her blade across the room, where it thunked harmlessly off the metal bulkhead. Turning on her heel, she strode to the restraint chair at the rear of the ship. Riddick couldn’t resist following. He stood in front of her, leaning close as she sat down. Kyra wouldn’t meet his eyes; she stared straight ahead.

“Not such a badass now,” Riddick rumbled. _God, she was sexy_. When had that happened? Even though that first kiss hadn't really meant anything, even though they were both bruised and bloody, he had to fight the urge to kiss her again. _Not the time or place_. Instead, he leaned closer, smelling her anger and arousal.

Wait. What? _Arousal?_

Kyra wanted him? This attraction might be worth investigating after all.

_Not. The. Time._

For now, he decided to just to mess with her a little bit. “Just look at you,” he muttered, using Toombs’ words. “All back of the bus an’ shit.” Riddick jerked back as a tiny knife slashed out from between Kyra’s teeth. He chuckled and shook his finger at her. “Play nice.” But he was proud; he liked her animal side.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she asked, throwing his words back at him. Laughing, Riddick moved back to the pilot’s chair and sat down.

“We’ll be in New Mecca in a few hours,” he said, turning the seat around to face the control panel.

Kyra watched as Riddick checked the autopilot and strapped himself in. Pursing her lips, she stood and moved to the aft section of the skiff. New Mecca was progressive, but there were still customs to be observed. She wanted to blend in with the locals as much as possible – especially after just breaking out of prison. Thinking for a moment, she remembered the discarded robes wadded up in an empty gun locker. She pulled them out and tried the smallest one, settling the coarse black material around her shoulders. Examining herself in the cloudy bathroom mirror, she decided it would do as a disguise and set a larger robe aside for Riddick. Whether he used it or not was not her problem. Finally, she tore a wide strip from another of the robes to use as a sort of headscarf and veil.

That settled, Kyra flopped into a chair next to Riddick. Catching sight of her reflection in the front window, she sighed. Grimacing, she used her make-shift headscarf to clean the last of the blood from her skin as best she could. _God, a shower would be amazing right now_.

Finally settling back in her seat, she allowed her fingers to graze over the small tin tucked in her pocket. Her stash was almost gone. But New Mecca wasa big city – surely she could find a dealer? It had been a long time since she’d had to make new drug connections, temporary though they may be. Sighing, she hooked her thumb in her waistband and closed her eyes; she would just have to wait and see.

* * *

Updated 04-14-2015


	4. Layover

Kyra adjusted her robe, rolling her shoulders against the rough material. With her pale skin shining against the scarf draped over her head and covering the lower half of her face, she didn’t exactly blend in with the locals – but she didn’t stand out as much either. Riddick had completely ignored the disguise Kyra had set aside for him. Then, he’d skeptically taken in her ensemble as she settled her headscarf in place.

“What the hell is all that for?” he finally asked. Kyra looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you ever heard of camouflage?” she replied, tucking the veil across her face. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, changing the subject. Now that they’d landed, it was time to get down to business.

“Get a cheap room while I get rid of this piece of junk and get a better one.” Kyra nodded her understanding as Riddick reached under the main console and gave one of the panels a good whack. It swung open, revealing Toombs' small safe. Riddick pulled a couple wads of cash from inside and tossed the smaller one to Kyra. “Only one night,” he said.

“I’ll try not to spend it all in one place.”

Riddick had set the merc skiff down in the desert surrounding New Mecca. It was a long walk in the afternoon heat to reach the city, but he didn’t want anyone spotting them. Once there, the pair stuck to the shadows, weaving their way through the streets and alleys of the sprawling metropolis. They paused in a quiet square near a fountain.

“Meet me back here at sundown,” Riddick said. Kyra nodded. Gripping her wad of cash, she set off in the direction of New Mecca’s market district, in search of a cheap hotel.

She didn’t have to look far. Tucked in a little alley just past the market square was a dilapidated, no-tell-motel sort of place that took cash up front, no questions asked; exactly the kind of place she was searching for. _Fine by me_. After a quick stop at a nearby thrift store, she checked in and headed to the room.

Inside, Kyra dropped her purchases on one of the room's two beds and made straight for the bathroom, carefully pulling off her shirt as she went. She turned on the water and kicked off her pants; steam started to fill the room as she set her underwear in the sink to soak. Leaving the rest of her clothes in a heap on the floor, she stepped under the spray.

The hot water coursed over her body, turning a muddy red-brown as it ran toward the drain. Kyra could feel the slickness of the dried blood as it washed off her. There was a soap dispenser attached to the wall, and she pushed the lever. Taking a big handful of the cleaner, she scrubbed at herself viciously. She felt dirty, like the grit and grime had become a part of her – burrowed their way into her very flesh, and it had been a long time since she’d had a chance to wash in relative peace. With deliberate movements, she worked the soap into her skin until she felt raw.

Kyra squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face up to the spray, taking a second to enjoy the warm water. Then, she lathered her hands, working the soap into her tangled and dread-locked hair and over her face. When she figured she’d spent enough time scrubbing, she rinsed off.

Letting out a sigh, Kyra shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a scratchy white towel around her body and tucked the end between her breasts. Idly, she wiped the fog of steam off the mirror and glanced at her reflection. Kyra ran a hand over her face and stepped back into the room. She dug into the small plastic bag she'd left on the bed and pulled out a pair of faded jeans and a dingy gray top. Returning to the bathroom, she dropped her towel and pulled her wet hair up off her neck. Kyra left her underwear in the sink and quickly pulled on the pants. The movement pulled at the wound along her ribs. She had hoped it would start to clot again in the shower, but a trickle of blood still flowed down the scrubbed pink skin of her hip; it needed stitches.

“Dammit,” she muttered resignedly. Pressing her towel back to her side, she ventured into the bedroom again, looking for a sewing kit.

She found one in a nightstand and returned to the bathroom. Threading the needle, she tied off the end and paused. Reaching into the pocket of her discarded pants, she pulled out her stash box.

Kyra inhaled deeply and flipped the lid open. The emptiness of the little tin was depressing, but there was more than enough to get through the job at hand; just a little bump was all she needed.

When the drugs hit her system, she picked up the needle and thread and stitched herself up. It was awkward, and it hurt like hell, but her stitches were relatively small and even – more importantly, they would hold. Done, she cleaned herself up and slipped the top over her head. She considered washing her underwear and decided against it for the moment. They’d still be there when she got back.

Before leaving, Kyra pulled the final item out of the thrift store bag – a cheap pair of sunglasses. She tucked her cigarettes into her left hip pocket, her stash box into her right, and her weapons into their usual spots. Hiding a little bit of the leftover cash into her boot, she grabbed her key card and headscarf, and disappeared into the New Meccan afternoon.

* * *

Riddick was waiting when Kyra ambled into the small square at dusk. Instantly, he realized something was different. Though she still wore that ridiculous headscarf, she had new clothes and a battered pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes from the dying sun. But the difference was more than just that. She didn’t smell right. Even with the heady aromas of the New Mecca market lingering in the air, he could still pick up the scents of sex and sleaze masking the inexplicably fresh fragrance he associated with her.

When Kyra reached the fountain, she grinned wolfishly up at him, her eyes wild as she peeked over the sunglasses. _What had she been up to_? Putting the thought out of his mind, Riddick followed her out of the square and down the winding streets to their hotel.

Their room was small and stark – two beds, a nightstand between them, and a television mounted in a corner – but relatively clean. Riddick did a quick search for anything suspicious before ducking into the bathroom for a quick shower. Growling at the mess the kid had left, he kicked her clothes and wet towel out of the way before stripping and stepping under the hot spray. When he emerged back into the bedroom, he found Kyra perched in the room’s only window, smoking a cigarette. She had the tv on, flipping channels at random. Ignoring her, he pulled back the coverlet and slid into the bed nearest the door. It had been a long-ass day; all he wanted to do was sleep.

But sleep didn’t come. The kid turned off the tv and sat smoking silently for a while, but Riddick was still wide awake. Instead, he watched Kyra as she stared out into the New Meccan night. He hadn’t had a chance to really look her over; and now, in the dark hotel room, he took in how much she had changed. Her hair was longer – a riot of curls and dreadlocks that she kept twisted or tied up and out of her way. While he wasn’t sure of the color, he could tell it was darker than it used to be, too.

The biggest thing Riddick noticed was how the kid had filled out. _Definitely not a kid anymore_ , he thought, his gaze lingering on the soft curves of her new, grown-up body. Not surprisingly, parts of him responded eagerly to her appearance. Those parts wanted to keep her around for a while, wanted to find out all the other ways she’d changed…

Shoving those thoughts from his mind, Riddick laced his fingers behind his head and spoke. “Where’d you go today?” he asked.

Kyra’s head jerked toward the sound of his voice, her shined eyes finding him easily in the dark room. “Um…here?” she replied, a question in her voice.

“You got new clothes,” he prompted. _And a strange smell_.

“I needed them.” She flicked her cigarette out into the night and swung her legs back into the room. “You probably do, too,” she suggested.

Riddick watched as Kyra slipped all the way inside and shut the window. Then, she disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the sound of water running. Apparently, that’s all he was going to get. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and finally drifted into a light doze.

When she’d finished washing her clothes, Kyra laid them out to dry as best she could. The bump she’d taken with the sketchy motherfucker who’d sold to her was finally wearing off and the ache was returning to her fresh stitches, but she was starting to feel normal again. She might even be able to sleep.

In the bedroom, she pulled off her boots and lay on the far edge of the second bed. She curled up carefully on her side and pulled the blankets over her, willing herself to relax. Finally, after almost an hour of lying perfectly still, she was dozing as well.

* * *

Riddick woke as the first rays of light slipped between the heavy hotel drapes. He sat up, glancing around for the kid. Kyra was curled up on the other bed, on her side with her back facing the wall. She had one hand tucked under her chin, and her other clutched a knife. He raised an eyebrow. _Interesting sleeping position,_ he thought. Clearing his throat, he gave her mattress a soft nudge.

Kyra opened her eyes, instantly alert. “Morning,” she offered, sitting up. Riddick grunted in reply and disappeared into the bathroom. Stretching, Kyra slipped out from under the covers and tugged on her boots. Her knife disappeared into a hidden sheath. _Coffee_ , she thought vaguely. _I could really go for some coffee_. With a sigh, she put on her sunglasses and opened the window. Perching on the ledge, she lit a cigarette and waited for Riddick to finish whatever he was doing in the bathroom.

When the door opened, she ducked in behind him to gather her still-damp clothes. She folded them as best she could and shoved them into the thrift store bag. Then, she looked at Riddick.

“Breakfast?” she asked hopefully. He was gonna dump her off here at some point, but maybe she could at least get some food down her throat before he did. Riddick shrugged and nodded.

The small, greasy-spoon café they chose was near the spaceport. After they were seated, Kyra flagged down a waitress.

“Coffee,” she said. “And keep it coming.”

The waitress nodded and filled a chipped, heavy porcelain cup with something that looked more like mud than coffee. Kyra didn’t care – after years in prison, it smelled and tasted heavenly.

After they ordered, Riddick found himself studying Kyra as she examined the cracked laminate tabletop and gulped her coffee.

“Wanna tell me about Jack Junior?” he asked finally, sipping from his own cup of the muddy brew. He’d read everything he could find on the internet, so he knew all the gossip and gory details – but he wanted to hear it from her.

Kyra glanced up from the table. “No,” she said swallowing a sip of coffee. Riddick raised an eyebrow at her. After a beat of silence, she continued. “It’s none of your goddamn business.”

_Okay_. He supposed he would have to try again later. The kid was apparently pretty touchy on the subject, so it seemed prudent to move on to safer topics.

“How long have you had the shine?” he asked, after a moment.

“Does it matter?” she shot back, then sighed. “A few years. I dug up this vet about a month after they locked me up. I was broke, but he was willing to accept my…ah…skills as payment for the surgery.”

Riddick felt his stomach clench, and an unfamiliar pang tightened in his chest at that. It hurt to think about what she’d had to do to survive….

At that moment, their food arrived. Riddick waited until the waitress had left them alone and the kid started eating before continuing the conversation.

“He fucked it up,” he said, liberally salting his hash browns.

“Yeah.” Kyra shrugged and took a large bite of her eggs. “I can still see, though. Could be worse.”

They ate in silence for a while – Riddick contemplating their conversation, Kyra just engrossed in her food. Until – “What color are your eyes?” he asked, gesturing with his fork.

Kyra paused, confused. “Green,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “At least, they were. Before.” He nodded and they returned to their meals.

“Done?” he asked finally, setting his silverware on his plate and leaning back in their booth. She looked up at him, mopping the last bits of egg and bacon up with a piece of burnt toast.

“Yeah,” she replied, her mouth full.

He nodded again and drained his coffee cup. “Let’s get outta here.” Riddick stood. “Make sure you’ve got all your shit,” he added, adjusting his goggles over his eyes. Tossing a handful of cash on the table, he strode out of the cafe. Kyra followed, grabbing her plastic bag and settling her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose.

The two moved silently through the crowded streets to New Mecca’s impressive spaceport. Neither spoke until they were strolling past the long lines of ships.

“I gotta see someone,” Riddick said, stopping and glancing around. “I’ll be back. Stay here.” Then he disappeared into the shadows of the docks.

Kyra made a rude noise. _Yeah, right._ Adjusting her bag so that it hung loosely from her wrist, she shoved her hands into her pockets and began casing the ships nearest her. If Riddick was ready to leave, she supposed it was about time she kick off, too. Ignoring the tiny flare of disappointment, she started looking around for a ship that could handle a stowaway.

She kept to the shadows as she moved quietly among the docks. She read the names on the berth screens as she passed and wondered vaguely about the stories behind them. _Athena_ , _Quicksilver_ , _Royal Blue_. The name of the ship didn’t matter really, but reading them amused her.

She was examining the cargo hatch on a small, personal transporter called the _Runaway_ ,when she heard a noise behind her. Instantly, Kyra melted into the darkness of the docks, sliding a shiv from a sheath on her thigh. She waited. Then she heard it again – the quiet scuff of a boot on metal. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she listened, gripping her knife so hard her knuckles turned white. Just as she was about to cut and run from whomever was out there, a muscled arm snaked around her shoulders and yanked her back against a familiar chest.

“Shh,” Riddick’s deep voice whispered past her ear. _Goddammit!_ He'd scared the shit out of her.  Kyra yanked herself out of his grasp, but kept silent. Slipping her shiv back into its sheath, she waited. _Now what?_

“I told you to stay.”

“I’m not a dog, Riddick.”

“I said I’d be back.”

“And I was supposed to believe you? You don’t have a great history of follow through.”

Finally, he snapped. He shoved Kyra up against one of the spaceport canopy’s support pillars and pressed his body flush against hers to keep her still. “This shit ends now,” he growled in her ear. “I did what I had to, to keep you safe. It’s not my fault you ran off. That’s all on you, kid; stop blaming me.” He paused, stepping back but keeping his grip on her arms. “And if you’re gonna stay with me, you need to learn to listen. You need to trust me.”

Kyra gaped. How could she trust him after what he did? After he left her without even saying goodbye? Was she supposed to just…

He wasn't leaving her? He actually  _wanted_ her to stay?  _That was new_ . Maybe she should cut him some slack.

Riddick released his grip on her arms and turned away from her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Growling, he started moving down the alley again. He listened to make sure Kyra was following behind him, but didn’t speak. Eventually, the two stopped next to a small, older-looking ship. Cocking her head to one side, Kyra examined it.

“Not exactly state of the art,” she observed, cautiously walking toward the side hatch and peering into the darkness inside.

“It’s what I could afford,” Riddick rumbled, moving around her and through the hatch. Following him inside, Kyra allowed herself to look around.

The ship definitely looked its age, but it had been well cared for; the equipment she could see looked up-to-date and the control panel had been redone in a more modern style at some point in the last five years. Riddick sat in the pilot’s chair on the bridge and flipped the controls that closed the hatch, making Kyra start slightly. Lighting up the main comm panel, he began running updates and codes to check the current condition of the ship.

Uninterested in the pre-flight procedures, Kyra explored the rest of the craft. Behind her was a short corridor with two doors on the right wall. Opening the first, she found a small, sparse cabin. Two bunks were attached to the far wall, the top one folded up and secured. A nightstand stood next to the lower bed, bolted to the floor, with a small reading lamp attached to its top. There was also a good-sized cabinet against the wall near the door. Curious, Kyra opened the cabinet doors, finding hangers and drawers for clothes.

There was another door on the far side of the armoire, already open. Kyra poked her head in and saw a miniscule bathroom with a chemical toilet, a shower stall, and a vanity. The door on the far side opened into a cabin that was probably the mirror image of the one she had already explored. Figuring Riddick might want the room closer to the flight deck, she crossed the bathroom and dropped her bag on the floor near the bed.

After taking a quick look around her cabin, Kyra continued down the hall to the small galley. The rectangular room had a bank of cabinets and counters in the corner directly opposite the door. A cooling unit took up space on the far wall, along with a molded plastic booth for dining. She made an appreciative sound at the up-to-date appliances, poked around a bit in the well-stocked cupboards, and glanced at the food prep machine. Nodding in approval, she made her way back to the front of the ship. On the bridge, Kyra glanced around for the engine room access hatch; she wanted to see what kind of power this ship had. After a moment, she spotted a ladder on the far side of the room leading below and headed down.

When Kyra reached the bottom, she found herself in a large, empty cargo bay. Glancing around the vast expanse of the hold, she noticed four cryotubes against one wall, tucked next to three massive tanks – one for clean water, one for gray, and one for waste. A few quick taps revealed that the gray and waste water tanks were empty; the clean water sounded relatively full. Next, Kyra checked the fuel cells and was pleased to find that they were all fully charged. She wondered idly how much extra Riddick had paid to make sure the ship was ready to leave in a hurry. She supposed he could have just killed the previous owner, but murder was messy, and they did just break out of prison.

Continuing her exploration, Kyra allowed her eyes to drift around the rest of the cargo bay. She noted a large medical locker with a portable medical scanner near the main hatch, which would definitely come in handy when it was time to remove her stitches. Then, toward the rear of the hold, she spotted a large red and white warning sign:  _Caution. Engine Room. Authorized Personnel Only_ . She almost-ran across the room and hit the button to open the pneumatic door. Barely able to contain her excitement, she stepped through. 

Inside, Kyra let out a low whistle of appreciation as she surveyed the ship's engine.  _I take back anything bad I said about you_ , she thought. This was a thing of beauty. The powerful fuel-injection thrusters were capable of cranking out over 40 million horsepower – more than enough to break free of even the heaviest atmosphere – and the ion drives for anti-gravity maneuvering looked almost brand new. The cryotubes in the hold meant no FTL drive, but Kyra spotted a port to hook one up. After her last couple experiences with cryo, even the work of installing the drive and converting the ship for FTL flight had a certain appeal. 

Eventually, Kyra tore herself away from the engine and quickly searched the rest of the room. A large wall cabinet revealed an extensive set of tools, and a stack of crates next to it held enough spare parts to cover most basic repairs. Finally, she climbed back up to the bridge. She saw that Riddick was still running checks on the ship’s systems and cleared her throat to get his attention.

Without turning in his chair, he growled at her. “What?”

“I need a few things,” she said. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. “I'm going out,” she tried again.

Riddick was aware of Kyra shifting anxiously behind him as he waved her toward the side hatch. “Be back in an hour,” he rumbled. Dismissing her, he entered a code and started a run-up on the auxiliary drive. A few more lights blinked on.

“Uh-huh,” Kyra muttered, already compiling a list in her head; she'd have to move quick to make it back in time. Opening the door, she nearly sprinted down the ramp and toward the marketplace.

Not bothering to look up, Riddick grunted after her, then hit a few buttons and flipped a switch to close the hatch behind her.

When the kid was finally gone, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; having someone else around all the time was getting to him. He was used to being on his own – suddenly, there was a new smell, a new set of sounds to get used to. It crossed his mind for a moment that he didn’t have to take her – that he could just leave her here and let her find her own way. She was all grown up now; she didn’t need the Big Bad to protect her. Hell, she was a Big Bad in her own right. But just as soon as it entered his head, the thought was gone. She belonged with him, in some weird, sick way. _It's how it's supposed to be_ , he thought, and forced any other questions from his mind.

After checking the progress of the sys check and drive run ups, Riddick stood and moved toward the rear of the ship. He went through the first door on his right and made his way to the bunk without stopping to look around the cabin. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he forced his body to relax. He was all tied up in knots.

The ship had been expensive. The merc skiff hadn’t brought as much as Riddick hoped, and he'd been forced to dip into the remains of Toombs' stash – especially to get it fully stocked. Just stealing the thing would have been so much easier, but at least they were getting off this planet; there were too many damn people here.

Lying back on the bed, Riddick closed his eyes and felt all of his muscles slowly loosen; the tension slipped away for the moment, and he felt sleep stealing over him. _Let the scans run,_ he thought absently. _I’ll check ‘em in a bit._

* * *

Kyra juggled her shopping bags and struggled to hit the button that she hoped opened the ship’s main hatch. When she heard the whirr of the ramp lowering, she grinned.

“Yes,” she breathed victoriously and walked into the darkness of the hold.

Inside the ship, she shifted her bags again to climb the ladder to the main deck; right away, she could tell Riddick wasn’t there. After taking a moment to push her sunglasses up on her head, she started down the hall. In her cabin, Kyra set her burden down on the bunk, then relaxed her arms and sighed. She took a moment to rest and pulled her stash tin out of her pocket; her buzz was fading, and she didn't know when she'd get a moment to herself again. Licking the coarse grains from her wet fingertip, she judged the cabinet to her left, mentally unpacking her purchases.

When her things were put away, Kyra tore open a thin cardboard package she'd set on the nightstand. _Cigarettes. Real, honest-to-God cigarettes_. Kyra pulled out a single pack – her first in over a three years – and idly tapped the top of it against the heel of her hand, packing the cigarettes inside. Walking toward the ladder down into the cargo hold, she pulled off the foil and cellophane wrapping. At the bottom of the ladder, Kyra move to sit at the top of the open hatch as she gently shook a single cigarette loose. Taking it between her lips, she popped a match on her thumbnail, relishing the bitter smell of burning sulfur. She carefully cupped the small flame and brought it to her. Inhaling slowly, she watched as the end of the cigarette caught. She took the first drag and shook the match out. Exhaling in a sigh of contentment, Kyra leaned back on her elbows and smiled.


	5. The Garden

Riddick woke the instant the kid opened the main ramp. He’d listened to her move around the ship and finally heard her head back down to the cargo bay. She hadn't made a sound for a while though, and he wondered what she was doing. Then, he caught the acrid smell of cigarette smoke.

Sighing, Riddick rolled off the bunk and went to check the scans on the bridge; green lights lit up the various comm panels. He sent a quick take-off request to the control tower and nodded when the reply and a clearance number flashed across the screen. Stretching, he moved to the ladder and descended into the cargo hold.

Kyra was sitting in the shadows halfway down the main ramp, watching the smoke from her cigarette curl into the still air. “You know what I missed most?” she asked, not looking at him. Riddick didn’t respond as he moved toward her. With a quick glance in his direction, she continued. “I missed these.” Kyra held up the cigarette. Sitting down next to her, Riddick stayed silent. He took a cigarette from the pack when she offered, holding it, un-lit, in the corner of his mouth. They sat quietly for a while, staring out at the sun-baked pavement of the spaceport.

“We're clear to launch,” Riddick said finally, pulling his cigarette from between his lips.

“Window?” Kyra asked, flicking some ash from the end of hers.

“Half an hour,” he replied.

She took another drag, exhaling before she spoke, “Guess it's a good thing I went shopping already.” Riddick cocked an eyebrow and glanced sideways at her. “I assume we have a flight plan...?” she asked after a moment. He didn’t say anything. Kyra waited, but when it was obvious he wasn’t going to reply, she stood. Taking a last drag, she stubbed her cigarette out on her boot and flicked the filter out onto the tarmac. Then she turned and walked back up the cargo ramp, toward the ladder. Her foot was on the first rung when Riddick spoke.

“Make sure your shit's secure.” Kyra paused, glancing back at him. He had lit his cigarette and she could see a curl of smoke rising in the air. Sighing, she shook her head and climbed up to the bridge.

Riddick listened to her go, smoking silently. He heard her moving around on the bridge and in her cabin. As he crushed out the filter, he realized that maybe he really didn’t mind having Kyra around after all – might be kinda nice to have company for once. Sighing, he climbed the ladder and settled himself in the pilot's chair. He looked up from the comm panel as the kid sprawled in the navigator’s seat next to him.

“Everything’s set. We leavin soon?” she asked. Riddick grunted and turned back to the comm screen. Kyra raised an eyebrow and sat back in her seat. Between her little bump earlier and her excitement, her body was tense as she watched his fingers fly over the panel. She could almost taste the freedom of deep space.

“Ready?” he rumbled, flipping a row of switches.

“Yeah,” she replied, forcing the tremor from her voice. She heard the comm panel beep, signaling a message had been received – probably reminding them of their take-off window.

“Get strapped in.” Riddick fastened his own harness as the kid buckled herself in beside him. He flipped a couple switches and instantly felt the ship respond. There was a whir of machinery and a slight jolt as the ship rolled toward the taxiway.

They slid smoothly out of the spaceport; the ship drove like a dream. Riddick felt himself start to grin as he punched some buttons that pushed down the flaps and brought the nose up. “Here we go,” he muttered, flipping the final switch that fired the engines. The strong push of acceleration shoved them both back into their seats. Kyra let out a little chuckle – her drug-fueled excitement bubbling over as the ship shot into the sky.

_Here we go_ , she agreed silently.

* * *

Nothing but black and a sprinkling of stars was visible out the front window. Kyra had been staring at the same view since she and Riddick had cleared Helion Prime’s atmosphere. She'd come down a while ago, though the itching hadn't started just yet. Some part of her knew that her stomach was empty, felt the ache settling in her knees and back, but she didn't care. _Free_ , she kept thinking. _I'm finally free_.

“I used to do that.” Riddick's low rumble pulled her from her reverie and she turned slightly in her seat, wincing as the pain in her joints flared.

“Stare at the stars?” she asked, glancing over at him; she had a hard time picturing that.

“Yeah.” He slid into the captain’s chair next to her, causing it to creak in protest. Kyra almost smiled when she saw his eyes were gazing out the front window with rapt attention. Turning her focus back to the stars, she sighed.

“I never thought I'd see them again,” she said, her voice far away. Riddick nodded his understanding. “Hell,” she chuckled to herself, “some days, I'm just glad I can see _anything_.”

Kyra's stomach growled, startling them. “Hungry?” Riddick didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“I guess,” Kyra replied, looking down at herself. “Didn’t really notice.” _Time in the slam’ll do that to a person_. Her stomach growled again and she started to get up.

“Harness,” Riddick said. Kyra stopped moving an instant before the harness would’ve snapped her back into the seat. Unfastening the latch, she stood and stretched, arching her back and cracking her joints. Riddick watched her from under heavy lids. He was struck again by how sexy she was. He couldn’t shake the image of her long legs wrapping themselves around his waist as he…

The sound of the ship powering down into its night cycle broke into his lurid imaginings. As he listened to Kyra move toward the galley, he wondered what exactly her thighs would feel like under his fingers, under his lips. Then, he remembered the scent of her arousal on the merc skiff, and grinned; if he was lucky, he might find out.

Eventually, Riddick stood and strode to his cabin. He went into the shared bathroom, stripping off his clothes on the way. Turning the water on as hot as he could stand, he stepped under the scalding spray and let it pound down on his shoulders. He growled, then turned his face up to the stinging drops and began to wash.

After devouring an apple she'd found in the cooler, Kyra made her way back to her cabin. Across the room, she could see the blurry reflection of Riddick’s muscular body through the frosted imitation glass enclosing the shower. She felt her heartbeat accelerate as her imagination filled in what her eyes couldn’t see. She had a vision of water sluicing over the hard muscles of his shoulders and chest, down his stomach to…

Grinning, Kyra allowed her mind to linger on the image of a wet, naked Riddick and the flutter in her belly became a dull ache. She was halfway to the bathroom door when the shower turned off. _Damn_. Guess she'd have to scratch that itch another night. She switched directions and headed to her bunk instead. Laying back, she had a great view of Riddick stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his hips. “Well hello,” she murmured, drinking in the sight of the chiseled body in front of her. His ears seemed to perk up, as if he'd heard her, and he froze for a moment.

Just when Kyra was certain he was about to turn and face her, he disappeared into his own cabin and closed the bathroom door behind him. With a wistful sigh and a grin still lingering on her lips, Kyra pulled off her boots and slid under the covers. She settled herself more comfortably in bed and let her mind drift. Soon, she was dozing lightly.

* * *

Kyra came awake with a start, listening intently to the new-but-familiar sounds of the ship around her – _engine, pumps, day-cycle powering up_ – and as her cabin came into focus, she relaxed; she was still free. Yawning, she rolled out of bed and pulled the sheathed knife from its comfortable spot at the small of her back before setting it aside. Then, she settled herself on the floor to start her morning stretches.

The routine was simple – something she'd cobbled together from her half-remembered childhood ballet lessons while she was on the run. It kept her active during the long, lonely hours in space; it gave her something to do. And during her stint in prison, it had kept her sane through those first few weeks under the surface of that godforsaken planet. Now, she grabbed her toes and straightened both legs in front of her. She felt her muscles slowly loosen and lengthen and she leaned into the stretch before pushing her legs out to the sides. With a soft groan, she reached over to grab her right foot. It felt really good to work the stiffness out of her body. Giving herself one last pull, she switched to her left leg, gripping her foot and counting out the stretch _._ Then, she reached forward, pressing her stomach almost flat against the floor. Finally, she rolled through her center splits with a wince. Once she was on her belly, she loosened her hip muscles and propped her chin on her fists.

Lying there, Kyra allowed her mind to drift for a few moments. As she had almost every morning for the past nine years, she assessed her physical condition – _sore, but all in one piece_. She shifted slightly, pulling experimentally against her stitches and grunting quietly at the flash of pain. _Definitely sore_. She never bothered to check her mental status, so the fact that she'd slept through the night for the first time in almost as long didn't strike her as odd.

Rolling onto her back, Kyra sat up and brought her knees to her chest. She leaned her head from side to side, listening to the cracks and pops of her joints. Crossing her legs in front of her, she was pulling her right arm across her chest as the door on Riddick's side of the bathroom opened. Kyra twisted and leaned back a bit. “Hope I didn't wake you,” she said, by way of greeting. Riddick grunted something in return, and she shrugged; apparently, he wasn't a morning person.

Kyra finished her stretches and did a quick round of calisthenics – push-ups, sit-ups, and triceps dips – before standing. She replaced her weapon and briefly considered putting on her boots, before pulling off her socks and walking barefoot to the armoire. As much as she was looking forward to brushing her teeth with a real toothbrush – not just the disposable finger-sleeves she could sometimes get in slam – she decided to let Riddick finish before she invaded the bathroom. _Coffee's more important, anyway_. Grabbing the bag of grounds she'd bought before they took off, Kyra closed the cabinet and headed to the galley.

Riddick leaned in the open doorway, watching the way Kyra's hips moved as she slipped out of her cabin. _She grew up, alright_. That loose-limbed stroll of hers was sexy as hell, and her flexibility was nothing short of impressive.  He thought about her huskily whispered words when he'd gotten out of the shower last night, and how he'd wanted to go to her then. He knew some part of her wanted him, too – he could smell it on her. But would she do anything about it? Would she go after what she wanted? The thought amused him. How grown-up was his little Jack, really? After a moment, Riddick decided it would be fun to let things take their natural course. If she wanted him, she had to make the first move. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he returned to his cabin for his own quick workout before searching out something to eat.

Riddick followed the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen, where Kyra was sitting on a contoured booth bench with her bare feet propped on the table and a large mug of coffee cradled in her hands. He helped himself to a cup of the brew as he looked around the galley. With fresh perishables in the cooling unit and plenty of canned stuff in the cabinets, he was surprised at how well-stocked the ship actually was. After rummaging around for a few minutes, he found enough stuff to make some pretty decent meals.

“There's fruit in the cooler.” Kyra set her coffee down and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. She shook one out, stuck it in her mouth, and offered the pack to Riddick. He shook his head before opening the cooling unit again.

Producing a matchbook, Kyra watched as he grabbed two oranges from the produce drawer. She struck a match on the edge of the table, the bright flare of igniting sulfur making her wince as she brought it to the tip of her cigarette. Taking a couple shallow drags to get it lit, Kyra shook out the match and dropped it on a small plastic plate.

“So what’s the plan for today?” she asked finally.

Riddick didn't respond. Instead, he settled himself on the bench across from her. He was about to shove her feet off the table, when something caught his eye. Setting down his oranges and coffee, he grabbed Kyra's left heel and yanked her toward him.

“Hey!” The kid slid down awkwardly in her seat, her leg stretched across the table. “What the fuck?” Riddick ignored her and examined her foot carefully. Seared into her flesh was a series of scars, twisted around to form a sort of grotesquely delicate flower.

“What's this?” he asked, after a moment.

“What?” Kyra asked, confused. She tugged her foot out of his grasp and contorted herself to look at the sole. Then she shrugged. “That’s my brand.” Pushing herself back up on the bench, she took a drag off her cigarette and reached for her coffee. Riddick raised an eyebrow. He’d heard about the practice of branding slaves like livestock, so they could be identified – but putting a mark on the bottom of a foot was a new one to him.

“Why?”

Kyra looked up at the question. “To mark ownership...?” she replied, arcing a brow. She caught Riddick’s sharp look and rolled her eyes. “Each plot brands new slaves after they're processed. They put it on the bottoms of our feet because the clients pay good money for beauty. Obvious scars aren't pretty - decreases our property value. Not to mention that most johns don't like to be reminded that the girls they're fucking are slaves; we're supposed to be panting for them, wet and wild and willing.” She paused to take a swallow of coffee. “As a bonus, with a deep burn healing on the bottom of a foot, it's a lot less likely we're gonna make a run for it.” Kyra shrugged. _It is what it is_.

Riddick bit back a growl. The kid said she'd been slaved out; he knew what that meant. But seeing that scar marking her as someone else's property pissed him off. It made him want to kill people – starting with anyone that had ever laid an unkind hand on her. Leaving his breakfast, Riddick stood and stalked to the bridge. Kyra watched him go; she could feel the fury radiating off him. _What did he think “slaved out” meant?_ With a sigh, she poured a little bit of coffee onto the plate and sucked down the last of her cigarette. She doused the ember in the coffee and slid off the bench. Mug in hand, she grabbed an orange before following Riddick.

He'd tapped into a nearby internet satellite and was image-searching her brand by the time Kyra slid into the navigator's chair. She watched him for a few moments, before setting down her coffee and pulling out the orange. “I belonged to the Garden,” she said quietly. Next to her, Riddick flinched at her casual tone. He glanced at her as she started peeling her fruit before adding the name to his search; the first few sites returned were nothing but porn, but about halfway down the page was a link to an online encyclopedia article. He clicked, and read.

_The Garden is a main player in the_ _ interstellar sex slave trade _ _. A wide range of beings from all over the universe are funneled through their processing facility, then sent to individual_ _ plots _ _scattered throughout the known systems. These houses of ill-repute are often themed with a specific fetish or style._ _ The Vale _ _, for example, caters to those that desire the simple, girl-next-door type._ _ The Forest _ _, another Garden plot, specializes in darker kinks..._

Riddick glanced at Kyra; she was staring out at the stars again, munching contentedly on orange segments and sipping her coffee. Scrolling down, he found a table identifying each plot's specific brands and followed the link next to a drawing that looked like the kid's scar. The more he read, the darker his mood became. At some point, he noticed that Kyra had disappeared from the seat next to him. He could hear her prowling around her cabin as he studied an article about the Glasshouse.

_Designed for the wealthy debauched, the Glasshouse deals in the rare, exotic, and expensive. After processing, the slaves chosen for this plot are branded with a_ _ calla lily _ _ , the plot's proprietary mark. That is, however, the only mark on them. The Glasshouse prides itself on offering only the most beautiful specimens for their wealthy clientele. _

He was reading about the only slave to ever break out of the Glasshouse's fortified palace when Kyra passed through on her way down to the cargo hold. She slid down the ladder as he opened a linked video supposedly showing CCTV recordings from the escape.

Someone had cut grainy, black and white footage from several different cameras together to create the ten minute video. The first shot showed an empty, expensively furnished bedroom. As Riddick watched, a girl was led into the room by a leash attached to a padded collar around her throat. She was rail thin, with hollow eyes that looked vacantly around the room. Her handler leaned down to whisper something in her ear; there was no sound, but whatever he said made the girl tense. Then, with a lingering squeeze of her ass, the handler disappeared from the frame. The girl sat quietly on the edge of the massive bed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Riddick thought she looked familiar, but couldn't get a good enough look at her face to be sure... 

After a moment, a new person appeared on camera. It was like someone had flipped a switch; all of a sudden, the girl seemed to come alive. She appeared to banter flirtatiously with her client, swinging her legs and pushing out her chest. The man said something, and she began seductively removing her clothing. As she stripped, the john produced a small baggie filled with some kind of powder. He poured some out onto the nightstand and cut it into lines before offering some to the girl. She snorted her share with practiced ease. After doing his own line, the two settled onto the bed.

The next few minutes of video were sped up. When the video began playing normally again, Riddick saw that the CCTV time stamp had moved forward several hours. The john was passed out on the bed, and the girl was standing over him, naked and sucking on one of her fingers. The action made Riddick pause –  _ it was so goddamn familiar _ – but he still couldn't quite place it. If only he could get a good look at her face... The girl grabbed her clothes and walked toward the camera, head down. She disappeared for a moment before the picture shook and went dark.

The next shot showed a hallway. A door opened, and the girl poked her head out. She looked up and down the corridor before stepping out and pulling the door shut behind her. Keeping her right arm close to her side, she pressed herself against the wall and began to walk away from the camera. Next, there was about thirty seconds where the shots kept changing, showing the girl on different cameras as she moved though a series of hallways. Then, all hell broke loose.

A guard must have spotted her. The girl froze for a moment, then pivoted slowly on her heel. She brought her arm up, brandishing a pistol, as a man moved into the frame. He replied by pulling his own sidearm. Riddick thought he was talking, trying to get her to put down the gun. Instead, when he got close, she pulled the trigger. The first shot missed, but her second hit its mark and the guard went down. The girl pulled his pistol from his limp fingers, then hitched up her dress and tucked it in her panties before continuing down the hall.

The girl killed ten men on her way out of the Glasshouse's compound. Her aim was shit, and the recoil almost knocked her down a couple of times, but she managed. When one gun ran out of ammunition, she picked up another and kept firing. By the time the external night-vision cameras picked her up scaling the perimeter fence, she was spattered in gore. Then, just outside the gate, she paused and looked directly up at the camera. She grinned and raised her middle finger, before disappearing out of the frame. Riddick backed the video up to that shot and paused it. He stared at the screen, all the pieces finally falling into place; he knew why he recognized her. It was Jack.


	6. Tension

Kyra was checking the bulkhead panels for hidden compartments when Riddick started down the ladder to the cargo bay. Hoping to avoid too many questions, she'd kept herself busy while Riddick researched. She'd straightened her bunk, brushed her teeth, and, after finding a small polymer-bead w/d unit tucked under the bathroom vanity, had even tossed her clothes in the wash.

When she'd run out of things to do in her cabin, Kyra stripped the upper bunk and headed below. In the engine room, she used the sheets and a bit of creativity to rig a sort of hammock in the corner. Then, she started searching for hollow places where the ship's previous owners might have stashed less-than-legal cargo. Now, she glanced up as Riddick's voice rumbled from behind her.

“What're you doing?'

“This was a smuggler's ship.” She paused, waiting for him to say something about the Garden or the Glasshouse.

He didn't. Instead, Riddick nodded. “Find anything yet?” he asked.

Kyra relaxed slightly and leaned back against the bulkhead. “Just a couple so far,” she said, gesturing. “A small one by the waste water tank, and one that runs all the way along this wall.” She tapped her foot on the deck and Riddick grunted. Then they stood in uncomfortable silence. Kyra could tell he wanted to say something; he was struggling to find the right words. She thought about making it easy for him, just answering his unspoken questions and ending the awkwardness, but decided to let him twist in the wind. If he wanted to know bad enough, he could find a way to ask on his own. She didn't want to talk about it.

Riddick searched desperately for some way to start this conversation. He had a lot of questions, but this was Jack and he wanted to do this gentle-like. Except, he'd never been good at gentle. The silence between them spun out, getting longer and longer...

Eventually, Kyra pulled out her cigarettes and stuck one in her mouth. She offered the pack to Riddick and he took one, hoping it would settle the anxious-angry feeling in his stomach. “These things'll kill you, kid,” he rumbled absently, as she lit up. Kyra snorted and inhaled deeply, tossing him the matches. He caught them and lit his own cigarette, staring as she breathed out a stream of smoke. She stared back and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” the kid finally asked.

 _Fuck it_ , he decided. He'd never been good at subtlety, either. “Tell me -”

“No.” She glanced toward the ladder. “You done on the comm?” she asked, before he could say anything else. Riddick nodded slightly. “Care if I surf the net for a little while?” He thought for a moment, then shook his head; they could could talk later – _gentle-like_. “Thanks,” she said.

Crushing out her half-finished cigarette, Kyra levered herself off the wall and crossed to the ladder. On the bridge, she dropped into the pilot's chair and tapped a few keys, bringing up the comm screen. She blinked at the image of her flipping off the Glasshouse's security camera. She'd known about the video, even if she'd never actually watched it; she didn't need to...

 _...the gun felt foreign in her hand – heavy and awkward. Even with the rest of the john's cocaine making her feel strong, pulling the trigger took two fingers. And it was so_ loud; _it echoed around the hallways, and left her ears ringing. If she made it out of this, she'd probably never hear quite right again..._

Exhaling slowly, Kyra forced the memories away and closed the video. She took a moment to collect herself, then opened a search engine. It was time to see what she'd missed in the last three years.

* * *

Hours passed before Kyra came up for air. It was amazing what the universe had been up to: how much had changed, how much had stayed the same – political scandals, celebrity scandals, new names and faces in the same old stories. Leaning back in the pilot's chair, she rubbed her eyes against the headache brewing between her temples and tried to let it all sink in. After a moment, she took a deep breath and focused on the ship around her, sensing Riddick's presence just before she heard him prowling in the darkness at her back.

Riddick was restless, still fighting that anxious-angry knot in the pit of his stomach. He'd hoped talking to the kid would settle him, instead he'd just spent the past few hours imagining all the ways he would hurt the people that had hurt his Jack. He vowed to hunt every last one of them down and make them beg for death. But that was later – much later – and the animal inside of him clamored for blood _now_. Eventually, he found himself lurking behind the kid as she sat at the comm, watching her read some news article. He was so caught up in his lurid imaginings that he almost jumped when she leaned back. She rubbed her hands over her face as the screen went dark, disconnecting from the stolen internet signal.

“What do you want, Big Evil?” she finally demanded, annoyed with him skulking around behind her.

Riddick cocked his head to the side and stilled for a moment; the angry snap in her voice gave him an idea. If he could get rid of this nervous energy, then he could think. First, he had to cram his beast back in its cage. Maybe a bit of rough-housing with the kid would do the trick. “Remember that favorite game of yours?” he rumbled, pacing towards her seat.

“Who's the better killer?” she asked, spinning to face him.

Riddick braced his arms on the back of the pilot's chair and leaned in close. “Let's play,” he purred. Kyra's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Then, before he could register the change in her stance, she launched herself out of the chair and straight at him. She knocked him off balance and disappeared into the hold. Quickly righting himself, Riddick followed.

When his feet hit the decking at the bottom of the ladder, Riddick turned to survey the room. Kyra hadn't bothered hiding – it wouldn't have mattered if she did. Instead, she was standing in the center of the cargo bay, waiting for him.

“No weapons,” she said, holding her hands up, palms facing him. _This is just a game_. Riddick nodded and stalked towards her.

They circled for a few moments, getting a feel for one another. Riddick feinted, searching for an opening, and got nothing. The kid wasn't stupid, at least. They circled a bit more, each waiting for the other to make a move – or a mistake. Finally, Riddick lost his patience. He rushed her, delivering a solid hit to her midsection. She grunted and curled her body around his fist, softening the impact. He pulled back and easily blocked a sloppy hay-maker from Kyra. But she caught him by surprise when her left foot connected with his knee, and he went down hard. Reaching out, he grabbed at her upper arm, dragging her down with him.

Kyra went to her knees, trying to twist out of Riddick's grip. Before she could, he rolled to the side and she found herself underneath him, his weight crushing her into the deck. With her legs on either side of his hips, she could feel him pressing intimately against her. Sensation shot through her, and she couldn't contain her gasp of surprise.

“Riddick.” She despised the breathy quality of her voice.

“Not bad,” he rumbled, staring down at her. She wasn't sure if he meant her skill or her body.

Riddick shifted his weight a little, supporting himself on his hands and looking down at her. Her tank top revealed a lot of skin – skin he still wanted to touch, to taste. Leaning in close, he breathed in her scent and almost growled; the rush of her arousal was so strong he could almost taste it. He bit back a grin and pushed himself to his feet. _Round one to me_. This might be more fun than he'd anticipated.

Kyra scrambled up, shaking her head. Ignoring the tingling between her thighs, she focused on Riddick as he crouched across from her. Suddenly, he kicked out, trying to sweep her legs from under her. She jumped, clearing his leg easily, and landing with one foot on either side of his ankle. Already off balance, and with his foot trapped, Kyra delivered a quick left jab to Riddick's nose and a strong right hook to his jaw. Then, she released him and skipped back out of reach.

Riddick grunted as the kid's fists made contact. She'd managed to trap him, and get in two decent punches; _when had she gotten so fast?_ Now, he stalked towards her though the dark and wondered what other surprises she had in store.

He lunged, she countered. She swung, he blocked. The pair went back and forth until Riddick's fist made contact with Kyra's left side. Pain flared hot and bright around her stitches and she gave a short, strangled grunt. She held her breath for a moment, forcing her body to remain upright as her arousal quickly shifted to anger. Gritting her teeth, she rushed at Riddick, bowling him over. He tried to use the momentum to keep them rolling, but she brought one of her knees up into his crotch. The flash of pain cost him his timing and they crashed to the floor. Kyra made it to her feet first and drove her heel into Riddick's nose. “That fucking _hurt_ ,” she ground out, stepping over his head and striding away from him.

When she was far enough away that Riddick couldn't pull her back, Kyra pulled up her shirt and craned to peer at her stitches. They were red and swollen, but they were holding. Grumbling, she moved to the medlock and yanked it open. She rummaged around for a moment and came up with a tube of antibiotic ointment.

Behind her, Riddick sat up with a dull groan. He reached up and gave his nose a sharp twist, setting it with a sickening crunch. Then he rolled to his feet and followed the kid. As she applied some sort of cream to her side, he found some gauze to sop up the blood on his face. _Would have pulled the punch had I known about the wound, kid_.

Finally, Kyra lowered her shirt and turned on him. “Do you feel better?” she demanded, the pain from her side still fueling her anger. He shrugged, tilting his head back to slow his bleeding nose. She cursed. “Would it help to know that they're all dead?” He twisted his head slightly to look at her, eyes searching.

“All of them?”

She shrugged and closed the medlock. “The important ones.”

“You?” he asked. The look she gave him spoke volumes. _Stupid question_. Of course, her – who else?

“I'm a criminal,” she reminded him. “I deserved to be in prison – I killed a lot of people.” Kyra snorted and pushed her fingers into her hair. Her side ached and her anger had already burnt itself out; now all she wanted was to be alone. Running her hands over her face, she turned and disappeared into the engine room. As the door closed behind her, she settled into her hammock and let the sounds of the ship soothe her.

Kyra felt her tense muscles ease as she focused on the noises of the engine, remembering how she'd once sat with her dad on their front porch, just watching the traffic go by. “ _You have to listen to the cars_ ,” he'd say, a cigarette held between two grease-stained fingers. “ _They'll tell you everything you need to know about 'em. But you gotta know how to listen_.” Swaying in her make-shift hammock, she smiled sadly as the familiar words brought a pang to her heart; she missed him. Now, she imagined him next to her, admiring the beautiful machine she was in charge of.

 _What do you hear?_ her father's voice whispered through her mind as her eyes slipped closed. She folded her hands behind her head and absorbed the gentle hum of the heaters fending off the cold of deep space, the whirr of the pumps smoothly circulating air and water through the ship; the ion drives cycled off and on, keeping them on the correct course. It all blended together into a sort of concert, letting Kyra know that all was well with the ship – with _her_ ship.

Riddick found her down there later, asleep in a less-than-trustworthy looking hammock. He watched her for a moment, noting how peaceful she looked. Then he left her there, sleeping amidst the hum and whir of machinery.

* * *

Kyra opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, fighting off the last remnants of a nightmare. She’d mastered the instinct to wake screaming and crying years ago, but there were some outward signs she couldn't control. _Like night sweats_. Sitting up, she felt her clothes sticking to her sweat-soaked skin and grimaced. She dropped quietly out of her hammock, thankful she hadn't pulled a knife this time, and tugged at the damp fabric of her shirt.

The day cycle had powered down while she slept, so Kyra braced herself for the chill as she crept out of the engine room and climbed to the main deck. At the top of the ladder, she paused for a moment, thinking. She wanted a shower, but she knew the noise would wake Riddick. Sighing, she slid into the navigator's chair and pulled up the ship's flight plan instead.

 **<** **NO FLIGHT PLAN FILED >**

 _Hm_. Her shower momentarily forgotten, Kyra thought for a moment, then checked the ship's coordinates and current heading. A chart popped onto the screen, outlining routes to several planets and space stations within range of their power stores. Tapping a few keys, she excluded everything that required cryosleep. She sorted through the remaining options and printed out the most promising routes. Then, she headed to the galley to put on a fresh pot of coffee.

Riddick woke to the day-cycle powering up. Rubbing his face, he heard Kyra showering and groaned. He'd spent a restless night, tortured by dreams of her body under his, interwoven with nightmares about that escape video. Pushing himself out of bed, he caught a whiff of coffee as he headed for the door. The scent changed as he stepped into the corridor: coffee over something sour and sweaty. _Fear_. It was faint – several hours old, at least. _Is the kid having nightmares?_ he wondered. Shaking the thought away, he strode to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was sliding into the booth when he noticed the navigation print-outs on the table.

Setting his mug down, Riddick pulled the papers over and examined them. The top page was an itinerary and map, highlighting a route to the Yggdrasill system through Cerberus Station 23. Under that were flight plans from the Cerberus station to two different spots – a planet, and a small moon. The time stamp was from hours ago, so the kid must have plotted these. Riddick sipped his coffee and spread the charts across the table for a closer look.

In the bathroom, Kyra stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror. She glared up at the exhaust fan and grumbled, but having something to tinker with would pass the time on the way to the Cerberus station. Drying herself quickly, she twisted her hair back from her face and pulled her clothes out of the w/d unit. She pulled on her pants and took a moment to check her stitches – still tender, but no longer red and angry – before yanking her shirt over her head. Finally, she left the bathroom and padded to the galley.

Riddick glanced up when Kyra stepped through the doorway. “These are good,” he said, tapping the small stack of papers. She nodded and she settled herself across from him, kicking her legs up to recline against the wall. “How'd you come up with them?”

“I put our coordinates into the ship's DSN and picked the most promising results.” _It wasn't hard_. She'd spent years bouncing around the universe, long before he'd been lowered back into her life. “I should still have a few contacts on Niflheim,” she went on, pointing to the second map. “And Fensalir is always a good place to pick up work, if the Nif's a bust.”

“Why the Cerberus station?” Riddick asked, curious. There were over two hundred Cerberus stations that ringed the civilized galaxies, operating as security against the more lawless parts of the universe. Due to the sheer number of stations, some fell into disrepair over time. Others were taken over by the criminal element and turned into thriving black market ports. “I don't remember 23 going offline.”

Kyra nodded. “Yeah. Just before I got picked up. Now, they've got some of the best encrypting software in the 'verse.” More importantly, they accepted her kind of currency. She and Riddick were going to need new identities, new clothes, and various other odds and ends to keep them under the radar.

Riddick made a noise of agreement and stood, scooping the papers off the table. Without another word, he took his coffee and disappeared toward the bridge. Again, he found himself impressed with the kid's abilities. While this wasn't the kind of life he'd wanted for her, she had definitely made the best of it. _Always did admire a woman with a strong survival instinct_.

Sliding into the pilot's chair, he entered the data from Kyra's itineraries into the flight planner. Then, he reset the ship's day-night cycle to the suggested one listed for Cerberus Station 23 and watched as the comm's clock ticked forward several hours. Kyra slipped past him on her way to the cargo bay as an ETA flashed across the comm screen.

“Twenty-six hours,” he called after her. She grunted something in reply, then he heard the faint sounds of the engine room door opening and closing. Staring out the front window, Riddick's thoughts strayed to Kyra – and his dreams from last night. His eyes slipped closed and he wondered what her skin, slick with sweat, would feel like under his questing fingers; how each panting breath would feel fluttering against his neck as she writhed under him. Waiting for her to make the first move was starting to look less and less like a good idea...

Then, the image of her defiant face staring down the cameras outside the Glasshouse compound floated through his mind and he bit back a groan. He was an asshole, but even he wouldn't push her after seeing something like that. _Goddammit_. Shoving himself out of the pilot's chair, he disappeared into his cabin. This was going to be a long flight.

Kyra puttered around the ship, trying to kill time before they reached Cerberus Station 23. The bathroom fan had been an easy fix – just a few loose bolts – so she disappeared into the engine room in search of something else to tinker with. More than anything, she wanted to put some space between her and Riddick. That familiar dull ache still twisted in her belly, but after he'd seen the video of her escape, she figured he probably wouldn't want anything to do with her.

And _Christ_ , it was hard to keep her hands to herself around him. Sure, she'd had a crush on him as a kid: he was older, he'd saved her life, and he was hot as hell – what girl wouldn't get all weak in the knees? But now...oh, now she was more experienced. This was no little-girl crush anymore; Kyra knew exactly what she wanted from Riddick, and just the thought of falling into bed with him was enough curl her toes. _It's gonna be a long-ass flight_.


End file.
